


Don't Stop Me Now (I'm Having a Good Time)

by Slybrarian



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Cock Cages, Crossdressing, Cuckolding, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Fucking Machines, Glory Hole, Hanging, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Multi, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostitution Roleplay, Public Display of Affection, Puppy Play, Scent Kink, Sexual Roleplay, Strength Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, Uniforms, Voyeurism, Wall Sex, Watersports, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-12-09 10:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 15,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slybrarian/pseuds/Slybrarian
Summary: Various short ficlets written for the Kinktober 2019 prompt list. I'll update it probably once a week with stuff originally posted on Tumblr until the month is up. Pretty much what it says on the tag list, click through for more details on individual chapter summaries. Completed on October 31.In which there are:Three technically prompt-fulfilling diatribes from Ray about nipples, jizz-related business opportunities, and the benefits of being trained to hold your breath.Scenes involving dress-up as rentboys, cheerleaders, Marines, and respectable adults.Ray gets up to a lot of stuff at the behest of Brad and Nate as part of a vaguely connected Generation Kinkematic Universe.Two connected fics where Brad discovers he has a thing for supernatural creatures who can pin him down.Stuff long enough to be small fics, and several short snippets of sexy times.A surprising amount of tenderness and fluff.





	1. 8 - Prostitution (Brad/Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 8 - Prostitution. Brad/Nate. 669 words.
> 
> Brad is minding his own business after work when someone dressed like a rentboy comes up and hits on him.

"Hey there, sexy," a breathy voice said in Brad's ear. "Looking for a good time?"

Brad turned to give whoever it was a polite send off, then had to do a double-take. Short, spiked hair, deep v-neck tee a size too small, cut-off shorts that didn't reach half thigh. Lips that were definitely professional-grade. Brad would have thought he was looking at a barely-legal rentboy cruising at bars if he hadn't seen the man lead marines into battle.

"What makes you think I am?" Brad said, taking a shot of his whisky. 

"I've been around Oceanside long enough to recognize a Marine out looking for some tail," Nate said, leaning back against the bar. "You seem like the sort who'd rather do a pro than anyone else you're going to pick up in a place like this."

"Maybe I am. What's it going to cost me?"

"Ten dollar sucky-sucky," Nate said.

"That'd get me a couple girls all night overseas."

"Sorry, Marine, but this is America. Prices are higher."

"How much for a quick fuck in the restroom?"

"Twenty."

Brad pulled out his wallet and slid a twenty over to Nate before downing the last of his whiskey and standing up. He caught a flash of surprise as Brad walked toward the pissers. He pushed through the door and had just enough time to confirm no one else was in there before Nate came through after him. 

"You really going to do this?" Brad asked as he followed Nate into the last stall. 

"Twenty bucks is twenty bucks. Plane tickets are expensive, every dollar counts," he replied, tugging his shorts down around his thighs and showing that he'd gone commando underneath. He fished a condom and a little packet of lube out of his pocket and handed them back. He leaned forward over the toilet and braced himself against the wall. 

If that was how Nate wanted to play this, then that was how Brad would play it. He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled his cock out of his boxers, a couple strokes bringing him to full hardness. He rolled the rubber on and drizzled the lube on. Nate sucked in a breath as Brad put the head against his hole and pressed in. There was a bit of friction between latex and flesh but after the first few slow thrusts the lube got spread around and Nate relaxed a little.

"You're tight little whore, aren't you?" Brad said, gripping his hips. "Do this often?"

"Gotta make a living somehow. Grad school stipend only goes so far."

"You came to the right place. A lot of horny marines around base with money to burn and not too many worries about what kind of hole they spend it on. Pretty boy like you could earn a lot."

"Good. To know."

Brad picked up speed, giving him the same rough and tumble fuck that he'd throw for any other bar slut looking for a quickie. A couple minutes in Nate shifted position, bracing himself with just one arm so he could use his right hand to fist his uncut cock. Another minute after that and he was biting his lip to keep the moans down as he shot off into the toilet bowl. Brad drove home a last couple time and emptied himself soon after.

Brad got himself tucked away and stepped out first to make sure they were still clear, tossing the used condom in the trash as he did. Nate followed a few seconds later, shorts back in place but a definite flush on his face. He stepped up close so they were almost chest-to-chest."

"If you want a repeat, call this number anytime this week," Nate said, tucking a slip of paper into Brad's front pocket. "But next time you'll have to buy me dinner first."

"Hold up," Brad said before he reached the restroom door. "Come back to my place and we can order takeout."

Nate smiled. "I was thinking a restaurant, but that'll do for tonight."


	2. 11 - Crossdressing (Brad/Ray)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11 - Crossdressing. Also fits 12 - Costume. Brad/Ray. They go to Tony's G-rated Halloween party as a football player and his cheerleader girlfriend.

"What I want to know," Tony said, "is what sort of bet you lost."

"Why do you think there was a bet?" Brad asked, taking a sip of his festively orange-colored non-alcoholic family-friendly drink. It was slightly depressing that promotion and age had brought him to the point where the sort of Halloween party he attended was mostly filled with screaming brats and their middle-aged parents, all preparing for trick-or-treat adventure more heavily escorted than the average convoy.

"Because there is no way that Brad Colbert, top-rated USMC killing machine, fresh back for three years overseas, shows his face in front of anyone wearing a cheerleader uniform without a lost wager. Unless the bet was whether you'd do it, in which case, I hope you're going to win something freaking impressive."

Freaking. That was what Tony's life had come to. He couldn't even curse properly anymore, and he was poking at Brad? The man was dressed up as Mexican-ripoff Mace Windu to fit in with his kids, for Christ's sake, he had no room to talk.

"Maybe I just felt like it," Brad replied. "My masculinity is secure enough that wearing female clothing occasionally isn't going to cause damage to my self-image."

"Nah," an obnoxious redneck said as he joined them where they hid behind an oversized inflatable pumpkin. He was dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting red-and-white football jersey. "He tried a kilt over there and the skirt's the only thing he could find that gave him the same breeze around his junk."

"Dawg, there are at least male cheerleaders," Tony replied, turning his skeptical look on Ray. "But you ever playing football without having every bone in your skinny body broke? That's just plain bullshit."

"Hey! I'll have you know I could have been the star quarterback my senior year, but I was too busy with debate team to make practices."

"What happened to the actual quarterback?" Brad asked.

"One got arrested for selling weed to the other players," Ray said, "and another had to move out of our school district after his cousin's meth lab blew up and took out half the trailer park. But hey, we still beat the Brocos that year!"

"I don't understand how other white people allow you to exist," Tony said. "Hold up a second, I got to tell my girl not to hit people with laser swords."

"Ignore that cranky asshole," Ray told Brad once Tony was out of earshot. "You're a sexy bitch. The glitter lipstick's a nice touch, by the way."

"Don't call me a bitch," Brad groused. He'd gotten several compliments on his appearance, mostly from tweens and under. 

"All cheerleaders are bitches, that's what makes them so fun. Honestly, in any uniform, you're the biggest bitch I know."

"You should stop pushing your luck if you expect to get laid."

"Homes, that's how this works," Ray said, leaning against him. "The football captain gets his pick of the cheerleaders. It's incentive to win and compensation for the brain damage."

"Maybe in your backwards home of the American Taliban, not in any school I attended."

"You went to fucking military school," Ray retorted. "If you had cheerleaders at all, they were probably underclassmen."

"We had a very respectable partner school that we socialized with."

Ray laughed. "Fuck, that sounds exactly like the sort of prissy bullshit I expect from you." He put a hand on Brad's thigh and started slowly sliding it up under his skirt. "Don't worry, honey, I'll show you what it's like out in the real world."

"Not here," Brad hissed, even though the great pumpkin protected them from innocent eyes.

"Of course not, I'm not getting murdered by Espera," Ray replied, hand moving up further until he was groping Brad's package inside the lacy silk panties he wore. "I'm going to wait until we're done here and then fuck you in the back of the truck."

"I am not fucking in the back of the fucking truck."

"Come on, sweetie, I'll treat you real gentle-like. It's the proper place for American boys to become men and girls to become women. It's either that or a barn, and we don't have one of those."

"Not happening."

"It's not like I want to do it in front of Walt or something. We don't even have to get undressed."

Brad shivered a little at the image of Ray lifting his skirt up and pushing the panties aside to do him from behind. He quickly banished it. "Not happening."

"You'll change your mind sooner or later." Ray slapped his ass, winked, and sauntered off. Brad waited for his hard-on to settle down to before following.


	3. 12 - Pup Play (OT4ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 12 - Pet (Pup) Play. In which Ray and Nate have lunch while their pups have a play date, and certain pups are not good boys. 384 words.

Ray had turned his back only for a few minutes, but apparently that was all it took. He was in the kitchen, trying to get dinner going while explaining to Nate about how his poor east-coast taste buds had been deceived all his life by the false gods of North Carolina, when there was a sudden spate of yelping and growling from the living room. He sighed, put down the mason jar he used as a measure tool, and went to see what fresh hell this was. He turned right back around a few moments later.

"Nate!" he hollered across the kitchen. "Your fucking dog's trying to hump mine again!"

"They do that sometimes," Nate said, bemused.

"Not this often!"

It took thirty or so seconds it took Ray to drag Nate the length of his ridiculously oversized kitchen, which meant they reached the living room just in time to see Bravo drop Whiskey's tail plug from his teeth onto the hardwood floor and then scramble on top of the younger dog. Cock slid into already-open hole and that was apparently that, because there was no way Whiskey was going to squirm out from under the giant that'd mounted him.

Not that he appeared to be trying very hard after the first couple thrusts. 

"See!" Ray said. "He's a goddamn menace."

"It's natural," Nate replied. "He can't help it. And it's not safe to separate them once they start."

"Of-fucking-course. It makes total sense. The guy who's a hardass officer who can ride herd on two dozen psycho killers is also the type to spoil his dog and not train him to behave."

"No, he's very obedient otherwise. Knows lots of tricks."

"If the problem is that he's too horny, there's a way to fix that. I've got my kabar, it'll take just a minute."

There was a sudden silence and cessation of all movement, other than two dog-masked heads turning his way with death in their eyes. Message received, no using that f-word. Bravo started fucking again after a few seconds, with even more enthusiasm and grunting.

Nate chuckled. "I think I prefer him intact."

"Yeah, well." Ray pulled Nate back toward the kitchen. "There's another solution I saw online. It's a little plastic toy, basically a cone of shame for a cock…"


	4. 13 - Distracted / Distant Sex (Nate/Ray)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 13 - Distracted / Distant Sex. Ray blows Nate while the latter is trying to work from home and on the phone. 660 words.

Ray had just opened up Nate's fly for a "happy work from home day" blowjob at his desk when Nate's phone rang. Nate checked the display, flipped it open, and brought it up to his ear.

"Fick here."

Fick here. Honestly, sometimes it was like Ray was the only one who remembered they were out of the military. It was a good thing he did, otherwise this whole gay sex thing would be awkward and also hella illegal. 

"Yeah, it's good to hear from you. I'm not in the middle of anything important, go ahead and give me an update." Nate made a little circular 'keep going' motion with his hand. 

Ray figured this would be a short call, and he was a perv at heart so he wasn't going to balk at an unaware audience, so he pulled Nate's cock and balls from the fly of his boxers. A few good tugs brought him to hardness and Ray went down on him.

"Sounds like you're keeping busy. I'm working from home at the moment. It's very comfortable but you'd be surprised how hard it is to keep focused. There's lots of distractions."

Ray would have rolled his eyes if Nate could actually see them. Instead he did his best to be very distracting indeed. He liked to think that he was very skilled with his mouth and in general people seemed to agree with him. Nate didn't seem to notice much, instead continuing on with a sitrep about what he'd been up to recently as a bigshot strategic policy wonk. Annoyed, Ray upped his ante, slowly working him deeper and deeper until his gag reflex relaxed and he was able to Nate Ray clear down until his nose was buried in his pubes.

"That's good," Nate said, looking down at him for just a moment. "Very good. Listen, I've been hearing rumors about this thing I've heard the Brits are up to in Helmand. Got any details?"

Nate leaned back a little more and spread his legs wider as Ray started playing with his balls. He still was mostly just staring off into space as he chatted about drug smuggling or some other bullshit. Determined to get some kind of reaction, Ray slid his left hand around the back of Nate's shorts and inside, trying to get a little backdoor stimulation going. Nate swatted at his arm. Fed up, Ray pulled off, only to find himself grasped by Nate's free hand and forced back down. Ray briefly coughed and sputtered before getting his breathing back under control.

"No, that's nothing, just one of the cats hacking something up," Nate said breezily. He started to slowly fuck Ray's face. "I know, it's disgusting, but what can you do? You can't get the cuddles and companionship with the other parts." 

A few more minutes passed with Nate talking while using Ray as a substitute fleshjack, which, you know, Ray didn't object to in the general sense but he preferred a little more attention during the process. 

"Hold on, I'll need to call you back," Nate said, a bit strain finally evident in his voice. He flipped his phone shut and tossed it on the desk. He relaxed his grip a little and let Ray finish bringing him off, leaning back and biting his lip to keep quiet like they were still surrounded by a bunch of fox-eared killers as he spurted into Ray's mouth. Ray swallowed it all and milked the last few drops as Nate got soft until Ray tucked him back into his pants. 

"You don't get that kind of service in the office," Ray said. 

"Probably a good thing. Otherwise I'd get nothing done." Nate grinned and stretched, before grabbing his phone and handing it to Ray. "Call Brad back, he's got a question for you."

"Oh, fuck you, if I'd known it was him I wouldn't kept it so quiet."

"Thank you for your discretion anyway."


	5. 14 - Asphyxiation (Ray/Brad/Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 - Asphyxiation. Ray's just hanging out with his buddies. Remember, kids, never play alone. Also, two is one and one is none, so technically that marines should never play without two people. 864 words.

Ray wasn't sure how long he was standing on his toes. Between the cloth hood, thick enough to block out all light and muffle most sound, and slightly too-chill air on his naked skin, he'd lost sense of time. The interment vibrations from his cock and ass weren't helping at all; giving a goddamned bluetooth-controlled cock ring and butt plug as a birthday gag for his favorite geek had seemed like a great idea at the time but turned out to be absolutely torture. And then there was the rope coiled on his collar and trailing up one side of his neck, just heavy enough to make him aware of its presence and just light enough to make it clear its weight was supported from somewhere above. Each little cramp and strain from the tips of his toes to his ass and thighs brought his mind back around to it. Every time he tried to relax his feet for a moment made it tug his chin up; every moment holding himself upright reminded him that sooner or later something had to give. 

Someone must have gotten bored watching him wobble. There was a sudden hollow thunk and the bucket beneath his feet disappeared. He tried to suck in a breath but he was too slow, his sudden fall arrested after barely an inch and the noose around his neck constricting tight against his throat as his weight pulled the rope taunt. 

Even through the hood and the thin layer of foam padding he could feel the rope trying to dig into his skin as he hung suspended and swayed gently. At first it wasn't too bad, years-dormant training taking hold in a way it never had with hands wrapped around his throat. He knew exactly how long he could hold his breath. But as his heart started pumping and the adrenaline flowed, his body started to get ideas of its own. It told him that if he didn't get some air right fucking now he was going to fucking die and if the brain wasn't going to do something about that it would. He started to squirm and rock, and then more training kicked in, the escape part, only there wasn't any to be found. He tried to reach up and get the weight off his neck but his arms were secured cuffed behind his back. He tried to kick but the padded shackles there only gave him a few inches of movement. Bending at the hips and knees got him swinging wildly and for the briefest moments he could feel the bucket under a couple of toes, but coming in contact made it roll away. 

At that point he finally tried to take a breath and not even a wheeze emerge, and he started to squirm and panic in earnest. What sensation he had narrowed down to the pounding rush of blood in his ears and a strange dizzying euphoria. Through the whole thing he was hard as a fucking rock, cock bouncing around as he writhed like a worm on a hook..

A hand touched his hip, steadying his swing. Another slick one gave him two quick jerks before his entire universe seemed to explode into a shower of stars. For a brief moment there was an overwhelming sense of floating peace. Before it finished fading and Ray remembered he was fucking dying, the rope went slack and he dropped again, this time into a pair of waiting arms that gently eased him down onto the workout mat covering the basement floor.

"Shhh, shhh," Brad said, rocking him gently as Ray made faint gurgling noises. "You're okay."

"Oh fuck," Ray wheezed. "Oh shit. Oh fuck."

Another set of hands pulled both the rope and hood off. Nate knelt in front of him, calm as a rock, and gently turned Ray's chin back and forth as he checked his throat and then opened each eye to take a look at his pupils or whatever the fuck else was in there.

"Fuck," Ray said again. He swallowed a few times and felt around his sore throat, finding rough spots where their best precautions to leave him presentable had failed. "Fuck. I think I came my brains out."

"You pretty much shot across the room," Nate agreed solemnly. 

"If you had brains, you'd have never tried this in the first place," Brad pointed out. So much for fucking aftercare. Ray said as much and Brad rolled his eyes. "We have a fucking twenty-page document about drop distance, drown proofing, and asphyxiation times. There's a spreadsheet. I've exceeded my care limit for the next three months."

"You callous motherfucker, I was just hung."

"Hanged," Brad corrected. 

"I'm hung too." Laughter bubbled up from Ray's gut and burst out as cackling, all the euphoria of coming off a combat high combined with post-orgasmic bliss and more than a little remaining light-headedness. 

"Come on, let's get him in the shower and warmed up a little," Nate said. He stood and Brad followed, bringing Ray up with him, bridal-style for a few seconds before he slung him over his shoulder like a caveman carrying off a kidnap victim.


	6. 15 - Uniforms (Brad/Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 - Uniforms. Do I need to explain further? 639 words, mostly fluff.

"Better watch out, Colbert," Suresh said, giving him a nudge with an elbow. "Looks like someone has eyes on you."

Brad had been well aware of that for several minutes, but he made a show of looking around their little meet-the-lads shindig. For every thing that Brad found was different with the Royal Marines, there was something else that was exactly the same. Stupid events where they had to dress up in order to show off to the wives and girlfriends, and locals interested in becoming those or potentially stupid enough to actually join up, fell into the shared category.

"Who, the ginger with the big tits over by the punch?" Brad asked. "I thought she was with Rhys."

"Nah, the lad she's talking with. He looks like he wants to eat you right up. You gotta watch out for that sort, bruv, they're dangerous."

"I am well aware of the effect uniforms have on people." He had in fact given this lecture to any number of boots who thought correctly that their new clothes would get them laid without considering that this meant they no longer needed to fall straight into the first willing pussy that turned up.

"I'm not saying you're not, just that his type's a little more aggressive around here than you might be used to. Don't want you to be surprised when there's a lad in front of you with your cock in his mouth."

"You're making a lot of assumptions about my preferences."

"Hey, you do you, Sarge, but I'm just saying if you swing that way even a little, a pretty boy like him could be as fun as your usual girls."

Said pretty boy had noticed their attention and come over with a beer in hand. "I feel like my ears are burning. Hi, I'm Nate."

"Another Yank?" Suresh said. "Colbert here's one of your countrymen."

"I had noticed the staff sergeant's unique look," Nate agreed. 

"You a tourist?"

"I was in London for an academic conference, so I thought I'd take a little extra time and see some other parts of the country." Nate said it with a straight face, although Brad liked to think he wouldn't have bought the innocent act even if he didn't have a string of exorbitantly expensive text messages regarding where Brad would be during Nate's UK excursion. "I was supposed to be finding a pub for dinner and drinks, but I saw this while I was walking past and what can I say, I'm a sucker for well-dressed men."

"You may be looking in the wrong area, Nate," Brad said. "The officers are all hanging out over in that direction. They may be more suitable for people who fly across an ocean to hear a talk about international security issues."

"I spend most of my time around officers and gentlemen. Maybe I'm looking for something a bit more rough."

"I'm afraid rough isn't available right now. Dress blues are a bitch to get clean."

"I'll just have to get you out of them first."

"You're being awfully forward."

"Marines are famously dense. I wanted to make my intentions clear."

"You seem to have confused me with one of those officers I mentioned, sir. I'm the sort of Marine who's highly observant."

"My apologies. " Nate glanced sideways. "I think your friend's getting confused or offended."

"That's the natural state of corporals, even here."

"I see you're at least managing to keep them cleaner than the last time around. I love a man in uniform, but the smell can be a bit much sometimes, and the less said about the table manners, the better."

"You know what I had to work with."

"If you'll excuse us, Corporal, I need to take Brad back to my hotel and thank him for his service." Nate looped his arm around Brad's and lead him away, leaving some bewildered squaddies behind. "But seriously, as soon as we're out of public, I'm blowing you in your blues."

"How did you survive years in the Corps with a uniform fetish?"

"Most guys don't pull them off as well as you. And I jerked off a lot."


	7. 16 - Nipple Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 - Nipple play. Well, more like nipple rant.

"Do you know what I really hate? Look at these fucking layers. I've got a shirt, jacket, an armored vest, and a MOPP suit, and there's always something moving around or vibrating and shit. There's basically just constant rubbing on my nipples. I gotta tell you, I've got really fucking sensistive nipples. I don't know if that's normal or if I'm just special, but sometimes they're just about as great to play with as my cock. Maybe not, like, the head of it but definitely the rest. It's a very different sensation but still really fun. It's sort of like how playing with your balls can enhance the whole jerking experience. Put a couple clamps on my nipples and it basically doubles my orgasm, I found that out while having a bit of kinky fun with this piece of tail I picked up before we left for Kuwait. But that brings me back around to my hatred for our clothes. I've basically been getting non-stop sexual stimulation this entire trip. It's great for staying awake but sometimes it gets a bit much, that dirt road we just went over was basically like jacking off and I thought I'd cream my pants. But then I'd be left with sticky shorts, which would be awful, and I'm worried that by the time we reach Baghdad they're going to be really chafed and sore. My nipples, not my shorts. Although those are getting really rank anyways."

"Sergeant," Trombley protested half-heartedly behind him, "tell him to shut up."

There was a brief pause as Ray gave Brad an opportunity to do so. Instead, Brad said, "Why would you buy special clamps when you can just use clothespins?"

"Do I look like I have time air-dry my clothes?" Ray asked the hypocritical motherfucker. "Fuck, even when I still lived in a single-wide we had a dryer. You've been to my place, where would I even put a line out?" 

"My HOA doesn't let us have a clothesline," Reporter offered. 

"See? It's all the capitalists' fault. The same assholes who are obsessed with property values also own stock in nipple clamp companies."

"Are there clamps for tongues?" Walt asked, bless his innocent heart.

"I don't know, maybe. That feels kind of redundant with all the gags out there."

"Maybe Brad should have mail-ordered one of those instead of a turret shield."

"Fuck you."


	8. 17 - Orgasm Denial + Fucking Machine (OT3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 - Orgasm Denial + 18 Fucking Machine  
Brad/Nate/Ray  
In which Ray learns self control.

Ray had never been good at the whole self control thing. Not outside of professional parameters, at least, and let's face it, even there he pushed up against the limits of what was allowed. It really shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone involved that he had trouble with the whole 'keep your hands off your cock until we tell you to come' thing. It wasn't as if he was rolling over and going to sleep immediately. He was still a lot younger than either of those old geezers, he could get it up again while they were switching around. 

Inexplicably, this line of reasoning didn't sway either Brad or Nate, who was usually fairly reasonable about things that didn't involve risk or self-sacrifice. Honestly, the lecture about using Brad's limited time in-country before he had to fly back off to the land of rain and cockney orphans seemed like an argument fewer days on the beach and as many orgasms as possible. 

Long story short, Ray got a little too mouthy for his own good and got himself locked in a cock cage for a weekend.

That had been annoying at first, especially while out grocery shopping, then aggravating as they went a couple rounds and he couldn't even get hard, much less jerk it or get off. All he had instead was just a weird uncomfortable squeezing. Sunday night got worse. At first Ray thought that being strapped to a fuck bench would be enough for the control freaks; indeed, he expected a thorough reaming while they took turns teasing his cock. A couple long, rough fucks he got, but instead of being deeply satisfying it was just deeply frustrating, because he got all the immense arousal without a happy ending. Ray loved getting fucked more than almost anything but almost included actually getting to come.

Ray was starting to work himself up to a rant along those lines when Brad revealed the fucking machine he'd apparently built in the garage while Ray was out running errands. 

"Whoa, whoa, hold on now, what's that?" Ray asked, trying to peek over his shoulder and not getting a very good look. There was some kind of small electric motor atop a sturdy stand, with a little arm attached. 

"Brad is concerned you're not getting enough dick while he's overseas," Nate replied, waving the glittering purple length of Ray's second-favorite dildo in his face before passing it back to Brad. "I assured him this wasn't the case, but he thought I might find this handy regardless."

Ray felt Brad's hand on his ass, then there was a slight whir of a motor being manually moved as the dildo was slid into his fucked-open hole. There was a small beep and it started to move, in until the base just started to brush the sides of Ray's butt cheeks and then back out until the head was barely inside, about six or so inches of movement total. Every time it brushed across Ray's sweet spot.

"Have fun with that for a while," Brad said, before turning away and walking across the basement to the less kinky side where the couch and bigscreen lived.. 

"Hey, no, come on," Ray shouted. "Take the fucking cage off at least!"

"Not until we're sure you've learned your lesson," Nate said. Then the fucker put a bit gag into Ray's mouth, strapped it into place, and gave the little escape bell by Ray's right hand a jingle before joining Brad.

It felt weird at first. Not like fucking at all, in the same way even a well-lubed hand wasn't like a mouth; different even than just fucking himself in the exact same dildo or having someone else use it on him. It was too regular and consistent, with no feedback between his reaction and the speed and force driving it through him. Every single stroke was identical, the subtle curves of the toy spreading and relaxing his hole the same way, the knob at the end stroking back and forth across his spot every six seconds or so. 

After the first couple minutes he thought he was adjusting. Relaxing. In his wilder days, before he'd met Brad and long before Nate, he'd had his share of unwise escapades. After his first deployment he'd once spent a night getting fucked, a way to get out of his head and also remind himself that this part of him existed after a year of talking about nothing but pussy and tits. For a while the machine didn't seem that different, until it became clear it was like comparing pudgy old Arnold to the Terminator. It didn't pause for breath, didn't slow down to extend its own pleasure, didn't take a break between guys. It just kept going and going, absolutely relentless, with only Ray's own attempts to squirm and adjust creating any difference.

Then the motherfucking computer nerd took a moment away from Halo to do something with a remote, and Ray discovered than inconsistency was actually more maddening. Slower, faster, sudden starts and stops, nothing to let Ray anticipate what would happen from one minute to the next. 

Ray didn't even realize for a while that the increasingly loud moaning and whining was him, trying to beg for release. Either release from the machine, release from his straps, or release from the cage, he didn't care which. He could feel the fiery burn deep in his gut trying to well up, but unable to release itself. His cock felt like it was trying to push out through every crack and opening of the cage, while his normally low-hangers were trying to climb up through the base ring. He could even hear a slow drip-drip-drip a precome fell onto the laminate floor beneath him. Fuck simulated drowning and beatings; SERE training should involve fuck machines. 

He could feel something change, like his guts were pressure cooker turned a little too high. There was a sudden silence as the gunfire and shouting at the TV stopped, leaving only his low keening and the whir of the machine. Nate squatted down in front of him, removing the gag and wiping away the tears from his face before raising his chin up to look him in the eyes.

"Please," Ray sobbed. "Please, please, please."

"Can you?" Nate asked. "Try and come for me."

Ray demonstrated that yes he could, sucking in jagged breaths as his cock pulsed and long, liquid spurts splashed onto the floor. It took most of a minute for the last dribbles to final stop, until he finally went entirely limp.

"This is incredible," Brad said, switching the machine off and drawing the toy from Ray's abused hole. "You are absolutely the biggest fucking cockslut I have ever met. You should be proud of yourself. I did not even know it was possible to love taking it up the ass so much you could come while soft."

"Be kind, Brad."

"I mean it. That was impressive."

"If one of you doesn't get this thing off my dick, I will kill you both in your sleep," Ray growled. After he slept himself for a day or two.


	9. 18 - Xenophilia (Brad/Ray)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray's a werewolf. Brad finally finds someone who can fuck him properly.

The werewolf thing, well, Brad couldn't say that he'd been entirely surprised that Ray was some sort of mutant dog-creature, but it was still a bit of a shock. He didn't even feel bad about it. It wasn't as if Brad could have been expected to know that there were shapeshifting supernatural creatures lurking around the trailer parks of middle America or that they would join the Marine Corps. Brad was mostly annoyed that Ray hadn't mentioned it until well after they were fucking, not even because it was kind of a big surprise to lay on a guy making his first attempt at dating since high school but because it would have been useful to know when, say, people were shooting at them in the middle of the night.

("Honestly I thought you were one of those wacky day-walking vampires forever," Ray had said. "What with the epic sulks and the uncanny reflexes and the telepathic thing you had going on with the LT. Then I realized you were just weird and it was probably on his end." Which was a conversation for another time, because, a, vampires?, and b, what did Fick have to do with anything?)

Then again, if he'd known earlier Brad could have been having even better sex than he'd been having already. Maybe that topped the irksome chart.

When he indulged his bisexual side Brad topped most of the time, and when he didn't he still topped because frankly the average fucker had no clue what they were doing and needed someone to take charge of the situation. Ray did better than most when they switched things up, but occasionally it felt like something was missing. As it turned out, the answer was 'someone strong enough to pin Brad to the mattress and then fuck him into it.'

"I should be fucking taping this," Ray grunted. His voice was deeper than usual. "People'd pay good money to see Brad Colbert get bitched out."

He had one hand on Brad's hip as he hammered away, and the other was holding Brad's wrists together without any apparent effort, leaving Brad face-down against the sheets. 

"Fucking. Kill you," Brad gasped out. 

"You couldn't kill me if you tried. I'm fucking invulnerable."

"Forty mike-mike. Jammed up your ass."

"Yeah, okay," Ray said with a throaty laugh. He let Brad's wrists go in order to give him a slap on the ass that was sure to leave a bruise. "Really, I just want you to see it."

Fuck, what did he look like, with this tiny little shrimp of a man holding him down and taking him from behind? Suddenly Brad wished there was a camera, or that he'd let Ray install the tacky-ass mirror that he'd claimed to want. Ray yanked him back and up a little, holding Brad with just one hand under his stomach until he got his arms under himself, then leaned down and over his back. He felt heavy. Bulky, even, a word Brad never would have used to describe him before. He wasn't any taller, but even his forearms seemed thicker where they rested alongside Brad's. His cock, too, but maybe that was just his ass being over-stimulated and his mind playing tricks as his brain slowly dribbled out of his skull from the waves of pleasure. There was a scratchiness along his entire back, too, a heavy layer of hair on Ray's chest and stomach where none had been before. 

"Hey, ready for a surprise?" Ray growled in Brad's ear. Thick stubble rasped against his cheek.

"Jesus fuck," Brad panted, "what next?"

There was something pressing against Brad's hole as Ray fucked him, down at the base of his cock, and for a moment he thought maybe he was about to shoot. Except no, those definitely weren't his balls drawn up, because they were still smacking against Brad's ass. It sure as fuck was surprising when Ray slowed his rabbit-fucking pace down and steadily drove it inside Brad's ass. He could still feel it growing as Ray's thrusting grew frantic, the long deep strokes replaced by quick ones as he couldn't even pull back more than a half-inch before the pressure got too great on Brad's ring. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna breed you like a bitch," Ray groaned. "Gonna fill you up with so much come you burst. You ready for this? Wanna take it all?"

"Fuck yes," Brad replied. He knew exactly what the fuck was going on now. He tried to reach back and start jerking his cock but Ray grasped both his wrists, elongated nails scratching into his skin. It didn't matter, he was getting nailed right across his prostrate at just the right angle, and when Ray started grunting like a fucking animal and there was sudden new pressure inside Brad he shot all over the sheets with a cry. 

It took a minute to finish, then Ray pulled out of Brad with an audible, wet pop. He could feel a mess dripping between his thighs and mingling with his own. They both dropped down onto the sheets panting. Brad watched with fascinating as Ray's bulging muscles and thick, curly hair retreated until his was back to his usual smooth, skinny self. 

"Is this a full moon thing?" Brad asked. 

"Shit, homes, that ain't for a couple more days," Ray replied with a laugh and a crazy smile. "You should see what I can get up to the night of."

"I think I may need to work up to that slowly," Brad admitted. He wasn't sure if he was turned on or frightened. Maybe both, given the way his cock was twitching. "Because otherwise you're going to fuck me to death."

"Don't worry, baby, I'll take it real slow."

Brad tried to scoot a little closer, but was stymied by the fact that there wasn't so much a wet spot as a small lake. "Fuck, we're going to have to buy new sheets if this keeps happening."

Ray laughed again. "You thought I was poor because I'm trailer trash," he said, "but it's really because a teenage werewolf goes through blankets and cum rags like crazy."

"You are fucking disgusting. Get up and help me change these."

Ten minutes later, the spares were on and they'd both cleaned up as well. 

"Next time," Ray said, curling around Brad as the world's most incongruous big spoon, "we're doing it missionary style. I wanna see your face when you take my knot."

"Fuck."


	10. 19 - Public + Formal Wear (Brad/Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 - Formal Wear + Public  
Brad/Nate, 638 words  
In which there is a lot of fluff for something called Kinktober.

It'd been years since Nate went to one of these. Even when he was in, he did his best to avoid them. After that, there were a lot of very good reasons to avoid the Marine Corps Ball. This year, though, there was no avoiding it. Once you reached a certain rank, attendance was socially if not technically mandatory, and that extended to spouses as well. The Corps was slowly starting to get the idea that maybe said spouses had their own careers and interests beyond the needs of the service, but if Nate skipped out he'd never be able to show his face again without rousing scandalous whispers. Homosexuality was no longer an excuse not to be present.

When Nate arrived, the room was an endless sea of mess dress and actual dresses. The gender balance being what it was, guys in tuxes like him were few and far between. Despite that, it wasn't hard to find Brad. He had a tendency to stand out, and that went double when he was decked to the nines.

"Master Sergeant Colbert," Nate said as he joined him.

Brad tipped his head, and with far more gravity that it deserved, replied, "Senator Fick."

"Sorry I'm late. My committee ran long and then I got stuck in traffic."

"A believable excuse, given how your legislature has chosen to proliferously spend the hard-earned money of myself and the other taxpayers of Maryland on various vanity projects." Brad gestured at the expanse of crew cuts and other poor stylistic choices. "You haven't missed much. No one's even gotten drunk yet."

"I'd like to think the Ball here in D.C. would be a bit higher class, but I suppose Marines are Marines anywhere."

"Speaking of higher class," Brad told him, "my base commander has expressed interest in meeting Mrs. Colbert."

"He understands the title is _state_ senator, right?"

"At the moment."

"One thing at a time, Brad. One thing at a time." Nate followed a slight nod from Brad over to where a female brigadier was chatting with someone who Nate was pretty sure was an actual Congressman rather than a member of the JV team. "I suppose I should go suck ass if we want to make sure you get a sergeant-major's pension."

"You better. We can't maintain our extravagant standard of living on a state legislator's salary."

"Let's at least get a dance in first." Nate had to all but drag Brad out onto the dance floor with him as the band started up a slow number. Brad was rarely the smoothest person when it came to getting his groove on, but he usually didn't waltz like he had the proverbial broom handle up his ass.

"You know," Nate said after a few minutes, "if you don't loosen up, your subordinates and students are going to start thinking you're either a robot or deeply uncool."

"Do I look like I care whether a bunch of pimple-faced millenials think I'm cool?"

"We're millennials, Brad. They're Gen-X, I think."

"That makes me care even less."

"Is it really so bad being seen out in public with me?"

Brad suddenly stopped moving, a startled expression on his face. "Not at all."

"Don't panic, I'm just teasing. I know you like your privacy." If it were up to Brad, Nate suspected, he'd be out to their friends, family, and precisely no one at work beyond those needed for personnel matters. That had gone out the window when Nate had run for office. Suddenly they were once again the changing face of the American military family.

"I'm a role model now," Brad replied with a small shrug. "I should get used to setting an example."

"If that's what you want."

"I do," Brad said, bending him over at the waist and kissing him deeply.


	11. 20 - Urophagia (Brad/Ray)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 - Urophagia (aka drinking piss)  
Brad/Ray, plus a possibly interested third party  
In which Ray helps recycle something, Brad is impressed, and Walt doesn't even know what the fuck is happening two feet from him and probably is glad he doesn't.

It was the LT's fucking paddle party, and Ray was minding his own fucking business for once, like people always told him to. He'd had a couple drinks, but not too many, because it has been implied by a certain sergeant that if he behaved he might get laid later that night after his designated driver carried him away. He was chatting with Walt in one corner of Mike's ridiculous pasture of a backyard, not even being loud or obnoxious, just shooting the shit, but he could feel eyes on him. He glanced around and sure enough saw Brad watching him from the other side of the fire pit, talking with the LT and Mike's wife about interior decoration or the Peloponesian War or some equally gay shit, while still managing to stare in Ray's direction. Ray glared back for a bit, until the LT whispered something into Brad's ear and Sergeant Suckass went off into the house. 

Ray listened to Walt go on for a while about how he'd been nailing his girl's pussy to every semi-flat surface of their apartment, making encouraging noises as necessary, because even if he's disgustingly saccharine he was at least smiling. 

"Need a refill?" Brad asked, coming up with a couple beers in hand and extending one toward Ray. He handed Walt the other.

"Sure, thanks," Ray said. He noticed the cap was a little loose as he twisted it off, but took a big swig anyways and got a mouthful of something hot and salty for his trusting nature. He barely managed to hastily swallow without spitting it all over his poor companions. 

"Fuck, can't you even drink right?" Walt asked him as he coughed and sputtered.

"Wrong hole," he choked out, swallowing again in a useless attempt to get the acrid aftertaste of fresh piss out of his mouth. "Also, I don't know where you got this, but it tastes like horse piss."

""I can get you something different if you want," Brad said, an unspoken challenge evident in his grin. "The LT just thought you'd like to try something more interesting than your usual swill."

The LT fucking what? Ray took a glance over that way and the man was watching them with one of those weird analytical expressions, like he had some academic curiosity about what would happen if he sent his most trusted minion off to go fill up an empty bottle straight from the tap and hand it off to another subordinate. Ray tried to silently express to Brad that he was a bit confused, because while their relationship had never been anything like conventional it had never been so kinky as to involve officers, but the fucker just kept grinning.

"Well, if it's his idea, I'll give it another go," Ray said, because he wasn't going to let Brad think he was that easily psyched out. He lifted the bottle back to his lips and started chugging, downing the entire thing in one long pull before either his stomach or common sense could catch up and stop him.

"Got a weird aftertaste," he told Brad, handing the bottle back, "but I guess it's okay."

"Astounding," Brad said with a mix of awe and pleasure. "You are truly the most fucked up person I have ever met. Try not to drink too much more, I don't want you throwing up in my truck when I drive you home." 

He ambled back toward the LT, who had a sly grin on his face. 

"What the fuck was that about?" Walt asked. 

"I don't have a fucking clue," Ray admitted, but he looked forward to finding out.


	12. 21 - Bukkake (Sorta) (Ray/Everyone's Ears)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 - Bukkake. In which Ray's mouth splooges all over the ears of everyone else riding in Two-One Alpha.

"Have you ever considered how much sperm goes to waste around here? Like, even now, in the middle of a fucking war, this platoon alone probably produces it by the gallon. We're all big, strong men - yes, Brad, some are bigger and stronger than others, but even Walt isn't small - which has to mean big loads, and there's combat jacks happening every time we stop. Maybe even when we're not stopped. It's not like we can actually see what Walt's up to up there, he could be jerking it and none of us would know thanks to these fucking shit-ass NVGs. Try not to hit Trombley if you are, I don't want to die because of your poor aim."

Pause for breath. 

"Anyways, there's all this sperm being fired off and not used. Is that the right word? Sperm's just part of it but it feels like there has to be a word for the whole deal. Jizz, obviously, but medical-like. Anyways, like I said, we've got a bunch of people who are super fit here, obviously top-grade genetic materials from that perspective, even Encino Man's really ripped once you get past all the idiocy. I mean, I'd want someone smarter, but if you're one of those psycho football dads he'd be perfect because there wouldn't be as much brain to damage in the first place. As a sperm donor, I mean. People pay a lot for that shit, and if we were just making use of our resources we'd be able to actually afford some fucking batteries and gun lube."

Another pause to avoid a pothole, not that anyone would appreciate it from how much bitching there was about his driving. 

"Back home we've got to be turning out even more. Literal buckets. I don't know about you guys but even when I'm dating I still jack at least once a day. I bet even if the fertility clinics got overwhelmed we could still do something with it. There's kinky people out there who love that shit. It's called buck cake or something Chinese like that. They get off on having hot, gooey man-love splashed onto their faces, the more the better. You could bottle up marine jizz, freeze it, and ship it off to these freaks and they could just nuke it and throw it on when they don't have time to find a few dozen guys to do it live."

Someone groaned. 

"No, wait. Do it live. There's already all sorts of kinky-ass clubs out there, this would fit right in. These people get off on having someone shoot on their faces and being used as a human come rag. Or something, I don't claim to be an expert, the point is they'd probably pay for the convenience of not having to organize an orgy anytime they felt like being used and messy. The club could offer guys a free drink if they take a couple minutes to jerk off. It's a complete reversal of how it usually goes for us. Think about it. You go to some bar after work, whip out your cock, and stroke off onto some girl's face, and get paid for it. Or guy's face, I don't judge. Civilians, I mean, obviously I would have to judge if it was one of us on the receiving end if I recognized him. Or maybe not, does it still count as gay if you're not actually sucking cock or taking it up the ass? I'm not sure the UCMJ actually has anything to say on the topic of facials."

"Okay," Reporter said after a minute. "I didn't think it could happen, but this is so weird that if I write it down I'll get accused of making it up as anti-marine propaganda."

"Ray, next time we stop, you are getting some fucking sleep even if I have to put a choke hold on you."


	13. 22 - Cuckolding (Brad/Nate, Nate/?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 22 - Cuckolding. In which Brad says, "we can see other people while I'm in the UK" and is surprised and angered by the stream of dick pics showing up on his newly-released iPhone.

When the first text arrived from an unknown number, Brad almost deleted and blocked out of habit. He'd had an iPhone about two months and was already tired of kids these days and their ability to instantly send photos of their dicks to anyone in the world. Firing off a pic of your average-sized cock and balls sticking out from a dense, dark bush to the wrong number was an affront to every technological innovation that had lead to sleek pocket-sized computers.

There was something about the slight curve to the right that made Brad hesitate a few seconds. That was long enough for the next shot to come through, the same cock wrapped up in a rubber. The third was it placed up against someone's ass, the head just starting to poke inside. That drew closer attention, and the final photo was enough to momentarily make him see red. It was a slightly wider shot of the same ass, spent condom sitting at the top of the crack, with familiar freckles on the cheeks and hanging down below a set of cock and balls that he was intimately familiar with.

Brad went for a long run, and when he came back he texted a reply: "Hope you have a will. You'll need it soon."

It was really stupid, both emotionally and in the sense that sending proof of his intent made unnoticed murder more difficult. The response of "lol good luck with that ;)" was quite possibly the most infuriating thing ever put to text and fully justified his initial reaction.

Because Brad was a masochist, he still didn't block the number.

It became something of a theme over the next few months. The locations and positions changed, and even who was fucking whom, but at least once a week he'd find cock and ass shots on his phone, graduating eventually to a shot of that pale, skinny ass with a tiny smiley face drawn in sharpie next to a cum-leaking hole. There was never anything remotely identifying of either subject, unless you'd spent time up close. They were always carefully shot to avoid anything above the waist. For his part, Brad sent increasingly elaborate descriptions of what he'd do to the increasingly less mysterious sender. The final straw was when he came back from two weeks freezing on a Scottish moor to find link to Megaupload, where he was able to download a five-minute silent sex video with an up-close view from below.

At that point, Brad booked a trans-Atlantic flight after receiving a couple weeks of leave. Boston in late spring was depressingly cheerful, even late at night when his plane touched down, and especially compared to the clouded environs he'd been trapped in. It only served to make him grouchier as he endured a cab ride out into the broke grad student section of town. When he was dropped off in front of a cute little rental townhouse, he walked up to the door and used the key he should have returned a year earlier to let himself in. Only once he was standing in the foyer and listening to the sound of a TV and quiet conversation coming from down the entry hall did he hesitate and wonder what the fuck he was going to do next.

"I can hear you out there, you know," Nate called. "You're not the only one with recon training."

Brad sighed. He made his way down the hall to the living room. What he found was pretty much what he'd expected, if less X-rated. Nate wasn't alone. Ray was sitting next to him on the couch, and the two of them were dressed in identical tan shirts and exercise shorts.

"Surprise?" Ray said after a few seconds.

"Did you really think I'd forget your what diseased cock and ass look like?" Brad bit out.

"You're right, they are pretty impressive."

"You did say that maybe we should see other people while you were in the UK," Nate pointed out, far too reasonable and calm for the situation. Never mind that Brad had said so, and then failed to do it.

"I meant a busty post-doc, or a twink hot for the TA, not, not," Brad waved at the elephant in the room. "Him!"

"We happened to meet up when he was out here for an interview," Nate said. "It turns out we've got a lot in common."

"Yeah," Ray agreed, "very similar life experiences, and a mutual love of fucking with you."

"You can do better," Brad told Nate, even if part of him had to admit it'd be hard to do. He looked around the room. Guitar in the corner, bookcase full of history and mysteries, tasteful abstract art on the wall, wadded-up shirt crammed under the edge of the sofa instead of put in a laundry basket where it fucking belonged - this did not appear to be a fuckbuddy situation.

"I could," Nate agreed cheerfully, "but as I recall, better flew away."

"Can I just ask one thing?" Brad said. "Why not say anything? Why the goddamn photos?"

"We thought about telling you," Ray said, "but it felt like it'd be a super awkward call and your death threats were too funny to pass up.”

“Also,” Nate added, “we were a bit drunk the first time he sent those.”

“No hard feelings?"

"It's a good thing I have a lot of practice not murdering you," Brad muttered in Ray’s general direction. More loudly, he added, "What even made you think fucking my... him was a good idea?"

"Listen, screwing a Marine's significant other behind his back is practically a sport in some places. You can't blame me for joining in, especially after you declared he was free for the taking."

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Nate asked.

"Not yet," Brad admitted. He hadn't really thought that far ahead.

"You can take the guest bed."

"Or," Ray said, "you can come watch me fuck him live and in person. If your head doesn't explode, I'll suck your cock after."

Nate nodded. "Or that. If you're not too tired after your flight, that is."

Brad knew the fuckers were teasing him, and yet. "I'm a marine, sir. I'm never too tired for sex."


	14. 23 - Size Difference (Nate/Brad's Size)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 - Size Difference. In which Nate is not used to being shorter than someone and develops an unhealthy fascination with one of his team leaders.

Nate spent most of his life as the tall one. He hit his growth spurt early, spent most of his high school career disappointing basketball coaches, and never had trouble seeing over everyone in college. The Marines weren't that different. There were more people his height, sure, but he still had at least a couple inches on most guys. 

Then he met Brad. He didn't tower over Nate like he did most guys, but it was still extremely disconcerting to have to look up to to meet his eyes. More so when he hovered at Nate's shoulder, peering over him to see a map or sketch. For a man who got cranky about people prying or getting too close to him, he had a remarkable disregard for other mens' personal space. 

Not that most Marines understood the concept, but still. 

Nate thought he had gotten used to it by the time they reached Kuwait, more or less. He certainly became experienced at hiding his reaction when Brad leaned right over him while he was sitting at a table or casually reached across a victor to pass a tool to someone, his shirt hiking up to expose a line of stomach or back. It wasn't as if they spent that much time together anyways, especially once they were in theater. Brad had his victor, Nate had his, and they spent ninety percent of their time on the road or busy with separate duties. Mike was a more reasonable size and, while handsome enough, not at all Nate's type. 

This was good, because by they were halfway to Baghdad, Nate was increasingly sleep-deprived and having to ration his self-control. If he found himself spending more time admiring Brad's silhouette against the sky or deliberately standing closer just so he could get a better feel for how large or small their height difference actually was, well, at least he wasn't calling any fellow officers dangerous idiots. It was only when he found himself staring at Brad's interactions with the rest of Two-One that he started to really feel stupid. Watching him provide quiet comfort to Hasser or instilling life lessons in Trombley, well, okay, that was annoying but understandable. Doing the same when he was looming a full head over Ray Person with no regard for personal space was another thing. Nate refused to be jealous of Person. It was inherently ridiculous, even more so than half-listening to the corporal talk about Brad's (un)romantic habits and wondering what it was like to be one of those women.

"Sir?"

Nate looked up, and then up some more, at where Brad's face was barely visible in the dim moonlight. "What?"

"You've been staring off into space and mumbling the last couple minutes."

"Fuck."

"Nothing coherent, but maybe you should actually lay down instead of propping yourself against a tire."

"I was just sitting down for a second. Help me up."

Brad did most of the work of pulling him to his feet. "Far be it from me to criticize and officer, but I'm serious about laying down. You're no good to use if you nod off on the road and make Mike drive into a ditch."

"I'll take that under advisement. I've got a grave around here somewhere."

"Thank you, sir." Brad turned to leave, then paused with a small grin. "For the record, if you're feeling jealous of Ray, I can provide a more up close and personal look than he's ever gotten once we're stateside."

"Fuck," Nate repeated to his retreating back.


	15. 24 - Threesome (Brad/Other/Ray)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 - Threesome. Actually a day 22 prompt but whatever, the hot tub one I was working on fell through. In which it's not gay if...

It's not gay if you pick up a chick together, right? Ray's fairly certain that's one of the rules. There are a hell of a lot of rules about how intensely homoerotic behaviors aren't gay as long as they happen in specific situations. So having a threesome with Brad, that's just a good way to save on the number of drinks you need to buy. It's not gay because there's a feisty grad student named Jeanette sandwiched between them who needs to relax before her thesis defense and decided the best way to do that was grab a matched set of Marines. Any touching is largely incidental.

Except.

Well, if she's riding your battle buddy and you're paying more attention to his cock pushing up her cunt than to her tits, that's a bit gay. And if she wants more and you get up between their spread legs and on top of her, slowly sliding your cock in alongside his, that's a bit more than incidental, especially when you fall into synchronized fucking like you do this all that time. Looking past her as she moans and writhes in pleasure to see what your pal's face looks like as he's getting his rocks off without having to use his hand, more gay points. It's almost certainly one hundred percent gay for Ray to lean across her back and past her shoulder so that he could give Brad a long, deep kiss, marvelleing at the feel of his stubble as it rasps across Ray's skin.

Or at least bisexual. The Marine Corps really needs to update its language.


	16. 25 - Scent + Boot Worship (Brad/Ray)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 - Scent + a bit of boot worship. In which Brad comes home from a long field exercise. 316 words.

When Brad came in the door, Ray was waiting for him, kneeling in the kitchen just inside the back door, naked save for a jock. No tellling how long he'd been waiting; Brad was running late, even by standards for coming off an exercise, but Brad wouldn't put it past him to have been on his knees the whole time just so he could brag later. Or complain, not that Brad listened given that he'd gotten out before he fucked up his joints as much as Brad had. 

Brad walked past him to dump his gear in the laundry room, then came back and stood a foot or so in front of him. He lifted his left hand and waved Ray forward with his fingers. Ray eagerly inched forward and reached out to undo his belt and pull it off. The moment he opened the fly the smell of old sweat and unwashed marine spilled out. A week in the field with nothing but baby wipes had left Brad thoroughly raunchy down there, even more than the stained pits of his t-shirt. The look of bliss on Ray's face as he buried his nose in the fabric of his boxers was worth the extra hour he'd spent marinating in his truck when all the normal people were showering. 

"Fuck yeah, that's great" Ray said, voice muffled against Brad's package. He gave it a sloppy kiss, the wetness starting to seep through enough to be noticed. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Brad chided. "You know that if you want to clean me up, you have to start from the bottom."

"Yes, sergeant." Ray got down on his hands and knees and, turning his head so he could look up with one eye, licked a long strip across his dusty boots. Brad should have started this a lot earlier; it was hell of a lot cheaper that wipes.


	17. 26 - Roleplay (Nate/Brad/Ray)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 - Roleplay. In which they play a game of POW and interrogators, which goes about as well as you would expect. 553 words.

Nate should have seen this coming. It wasn't that he expected it to be easy to break a recon Marine. He'd gone through SERE himself, he knew would take more than some flogging and titty-twisting to get their subject to spill the beans. That was half the fun, after all. You could be rougher than you'd dare with anyone else. 

Still. He didn't think it was too much to ask for a little cooperation so they could move on to the sexy part of this game.

Brad was standing in the middle of the room, although perhaps standing wasn't quite the right word, as much of his weight was being supported by a chain holding his arms upright. A spreader bar kept his legs split uncomfortably far apart. His bare, sweat-glistening skin was a covered with a cross-hatch of angry red marks, left behind by an array of switches, paddles, floggers, and other instruments. Weighted clamps hung from his nipples. Every few seconds there was a meaty thwack as Ray gave him another stroke, his own shirtless torso heaving as he put his weight into it, this time with the belt he'd pulled off his own jeans in frustration. 

Nate raised his left hand and Ray lowered his own, turning to take a breather and figure out what to use next on their recalcitrant companion. There was a wide array of tools they'd laid out on a table just out of Brad's sight, although they'd shown him them before stringing him up. 

"How much longer do we need to keep this up?" Nate asked, stepping up close to Brad. He had to gently turn his chin so Brad could look him in the eye. He could see and feel Brad's muscles twitching in response to the long string of abuse they'd received. "All we want is the password. Give it up, and we can go upstairs and get back to our normal routine. I'll even let you choose what we watch."

Brad made a vague grunting noise and with a little difficulty managed to focus in on Nate.. 

"Come on, Brad," Nate said. "I really don't want to tell Ray to go to work on that handsome face of yours. It'd be so hard to explain. People are already going to wonder about all these bruises, and we know how much you hate attention. All you need to do is just give me what I need, and we can even make this a little more enjoyable." He lifted Brad's limp cock in his hand and licked his lips suggestively. 

Brad very carefully shook his head, wincing a little at the movement. "I can't."

"Can't what?" Nate asked.

"Tell you."

"No one will ever know, Gunny."

"Really can't even if I wanted to."

"Why not?"

"Because the wifi password is two hundred and fifty-six randomly generated characters. I can't remember it at all." He grinned at Nate triumphantly. "You aren't getting shit."

Nate took a deep breath, stepped back, and nodded to Ray. "Hit him somewhere it'll really hurt this time."

The way Brad's defiant expression suddenly went away when Ray put the tips of the electric prod against his balls was really satisfying. Ray gave him just long enough to pull in a breath before pushing the on button and making him howl.


	18. 27 - Exhibitionism/Voyeurism (Nate/Ray + Brad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 - Exhibitionism/voyeurism. In which Brad receives the traditional soldier care package of jerky, chew, and porn. 925 words.

" play in private ;) "

That was all that the blank DVD had on it. There was nothing more on the slim jewel case it rested in. Brad eyed it warily, like it might be an extremely flat IED. It had come in his mail in a box packed full of jerky, chew, and other goodies, hidden between the folds of a new shemagh. Copied DVDs showed up regularly enough, but usually there was a note or two.

He double-checked that the lock of his glorified half-trailer was engaged, secured the blackout curtain over the window, and then put it into his DVD player. There was no way in hell that he was letting it anywhere near his laptop. Without any menu or intro the screen immediately displayed a bedroom, lit warmly if dimmer than usual by a couple of lamps. The camera was focused on a bed with tacky flannel sheets and a pair of spread legs covered with pale fuzz. 

"Is it on?"

"Yeah."

"You have it focused right?"

"I can operate a fucking camcorder. Jesus, I always liked that you didn't micromanage, LT. Don't start now." Someone walked past the camera and climbed onto the bed, careful to keep his face out of view, to lay between those legs.

"Stop calling me LT in bed."

"He can't see our faces. He needs to know who's here."

"I'm fairly certain our voices will take care of that."

Brad closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he was more annoyed by what Nate and Ray apparently considered appropriate conversation in bed and less pleased just to hear their voices together. Their squabbling was repeatedly interrupted by the sound of kissing. 

"Here, let me get you - no, wait. Shit, I can't blow you, can I?" Ray said plaintively. 

"Maybe if you turn your head?"

"You'd have to be more on your side and who the fuck finds the back of a head sexy?"

"We can make do."

"Yeah, say motto stuff like that, it'll definitely get him all worked up."

"Marines are the deadliest fighters in the history of warfare."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"The Browning fifty caliber machine gun is objectively the most manly object in existence." There was a slight tremble in Nate's voice that let Brad imagine the exact degree to which he was keeping his smile suppressed.

"That's some sexy shit right there. Hey, where's the lube?"

"Isn't it right - huh. Where did you put it?"

"What do you mean, where did I put it? Where did you put it?"

"You had it last, remember? I was too busy taking it up the ass to make sure you put it back where it belongs."

Ray's ass disappeared as he crawled up the bed and there was a familiar squeak as one of the heirloom nightstands' drawers were opened offscreen. "Christ, this is going to be the worst fucking sex tape ever."

"We'll edit it out. Here you go." 

A few seconds later, Ray was back on screen, ass aimed toward the camera to let Brad see the two fingers already sliding inside it. Brad unbuttoned his fly, then decided to just go for broke and pulled his pants and underwear down to his ankles so he could spread out further. He got his hand around his already-hard cock just as Ray straddled Nate's waist and started to sink down on it.

"Aw, fuck," Ray gasped. 

"Take it slow," Nate said, putting his hands on Ray's hips. "No need to rush."

"Nah, the burn's good, it makes me think his fat cock's going up my ass instead of yours."

Nate smacked Ray's ass. "I thought we were saving the spanking for next time."

Jesus fuck.

Ray rode Nate like, well, like he'd done this exact thing dozens times before, right down to the part where Brad watched them from a nearby chair. The sound on the speakers was thin and tinny, but more than enough to kick-start Brad's memory of every little gasp and moan they made while putting on a show. He had the timing down right, too. He got himself on edge and didn't have to hold it in for long as Nate reached between Ray's legs and lifted his cock up into view, stroking his uncut length until he cried and spewed all over Nate's stomach and points before. Brad came just before Nate's thrusts up into Ray's swiftly-relaxing form came to a pitch and stopped with a stifled moan of his own. 

After a minute to give all three of them a chance to recover, Ray rolled off Nate and the bed, his hand filling up the view as he reached for the camera. A fucking "let's all go to the lobby" picture complete with dancing refreshments flashed on the screen for a while. Just as Brad pulled his pants up it disappeared again. Same bed, slightly different camera angle, sunlight leaking through the shades onto where Nate's ass was presented like he was kneeling on the bed and about to take it doggy-style. 

"Okay, homes, hope you're ready for round… two? Yeah, two, there definitely wasn't one we fucked up and left the cap on between this and the first."

Brad hastily grabbed the remote and hit eject. The horny fuckers had probably filled the entire discs, but he'd still have to ration this thing out. That and hide it somewhere so that every gay, bisexual, or sufficiently desperate man in the FOB, and probably half the women too, didn't end up passing it around and jerking off to his men.


	19. 28 - Vore + Blood/Gore (Nate/Ray)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I don't take the prompt seriously at all. Nate/Ray, 150 Words

"Ray," Nate said quietly, so as not to distract from the dialogue, "you understand we're watching Hannibal, right?"

"Huh? Yeah, that's pretty obvious, what with all the blood and the villainous philosophical monologuing."

"Why are you hard?"

"Fuck off, the man who gets off while reading Thucydides doesn't get to kink shame me."

"It was Homer, Ray, and I was reciting." Nate watched Ray's expression as he watched the screen in turn, the way his pupils grew and his tongue kept poking out to lick his lips. Very carefully, Nate leaned over to place his mouth at the junction of his neck and shoulder and bit down, just hard enough to bruise. Ray shivered and there was a noticeable jump in his sweats. Nate sat back up, curiosity satisfied. "Looks like I need to review some literature."

Ray laughed. "You are a the nerdiest fucking sexual deviant I've ever met."


	20. 29 - Glory Hole (Ray/Brad, Ray/Many)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 - Glory Hole. Ray/Brad established, Ray/Many, Ray/Technically Anonymous Marine Who Is A Ray Of Sunshine.  
In which Ray spends Superbowl Sunday on his knees and with a bunch of cocks in his mouth.

Ray wasn't really sure how Brad had organized this. The physical part was easy enough. A small section of the garage was partitioned off by a couple of plywood sheets held up by a few two-by-fours, easily thrown together in an hour. There was a padded adjustable bench, the sort for gardeners that could be used to kneel or sit on, and a surplus cot to lay down. Several gallon jugs of water, a couple empties to relieve himself in, assortment of snack bars, small little reading lamp, iPad and portable TV: everything you could possibly need to spend a long afternoon in your very own personal glory hole. That and a comfy t-shirt, exercise shorts, and jock; no need to dress to impress here.

The social part, though. How did someone even do it? You couldn't exactly send out an email to everyone at your command saying, "Hey, guys, anyone want to come to my Superbowl party? There will be chips, dip, and also anonymous blowjobs."

Brad had better be saving some of that dip.

It was probably better that Ray didn't know anyway. The chances that anyone at the other end would even know Ray existed was slim to none; Brad kept his personal life private and the number of people on purely on his side who knew Ray was anything but a friend could be counted on two hands and most of those were family. Presumably none of them would be coming within a hundred miles of the house. 

Ray could hear vehicles pulling up the drive. He used his iPad to check on his lipstick; he thought it was a nice touch for the no-homo types and the shade looked great on him anyways. He was assured of this. He went back to playing Angry Birds as he waited for someone to work up the nerve and come out to enjoy himself. 

It took a while but finally the door from the garage to mudroom swung open, briefly spilling light through the room as a man walked in. Ray switched his lamp off, got on his knees, and peered through the hole. It was dim in the garage, with only a couple small LED night lights plugged in near the doors to keep people from tripping over a motorcycle part and smashing their heads open on the concrete. And privacy of course, couldn't forget that. There was too much shadow to see his face, but there was plenty Ray could still make out. Thirty-something, thick build but not overly chiseled, tank and cargo shorts, dubiously generic tribal tat on his right arm, cocky strut. Definitely some flavor of marine or soldier, probably had at least one ex-wife and a $50,000 truck with crippling loan interest. 

He knew what he was doing, though. He opened his fly, tugged his boxers under his balls, and after a couple strokes put his hardening cock through the hole. Average size, maybe on the plump size, dark, uncut but clean: definitely a nice started piece. Ray went down and started sucking without any foreplay or teasing, he seemed like the sort there to get his rocks off fast. That proved correct. After a few minutes he shot a nice, salty load into Ray's mouth, zipped up, and left. Ray made a tally mark on the whiteboard next to the hole and went back to waiting.

Maybe another ten minutes passed before the door opened again. This guy was tall, not Brad-height but maybe LT sized, shaped kind of like a stork, all long limbs and angles. Probably another marine, the haircut was depressingly similar to what Ray had worn while he was in, but the hesitance and general bookish look suggested some sort of POG, or fobbit, or whatever the fuck they were called these days. Maybe Brad was trying to put some hair on the guy's chest.   
He hesitated about a foot away. He unbuttoned his jeans and tugged him and his boxer-briefs down to about mid-thigh and just stood there, cock still soft amid a ginger bush. 

"So, uh... do I just put it in, or should I jerk it a little first, or?"

Ray wanted to say, "shut up, your stupid dickweasel, this is a complete violation of glory hole etiquette." Instead he kept his trap shut and stuck his index finger through to gesture for him to stick it in. The guy did, and while it took a minute to get him hard, Ray could forgive a newbie a lot of sins when he had a nice long one to suck on. He had some staying power, too, not just from nerves. If Ray were the sort to fuck random POGs he'd definitely be on the list. 

Things started to slowly pick up after that. Ray could practically predict when guys would start showing up by how things were going in the game; the moment a time-out was called someone was bound to come by and drop a load. He spent the whole of half-time on his knees servicing a non-stop line of cocks, to the point that his jaw felt like it might lock open by the time play started again. Mostly guys seemed to be observing the cumdump equivalent of urinal rules, staying outside the garage where they didn't have to see a guy get his dick sucked, but also clearly waiting right outside during the rush from the speed they came in as soon as another left. The exception were a trio of marines so clearly boots that it hurt, with identical buzz cuts and polo shirts, who came in together and got a little noisy as they watched each other shove their cocks into a hole with about as much enthusiasm and roughness as you'd expect from that sort. Ray didn't think he'd ever been so eager to please gunny that he'd have come over to give his kinky girl a nice throat fuck but then again at their age he'd still have been on the receiving end. 

The evening was basically an X-rated Dr. Suess story about cocks. Big cocks, small cocks, fat cocks, skinny cocks. White cocks, black cocks, hairy cocks, shaved cocks. Ray was in cock heaven. The one constant was it was all clean cocks; clearly they had been screened for familiarity with the concept of soap. That was more than could be said about the last time Ray had tried this for more than one or two guys in a row, back after he'd gotten back from Afghanistan. Right before he'd started his thing with Brad, actually, which he didn't think was a coincidence. Brad liked his mouth only metaphorically diseased. 

Near the end of the night, Ray caught a flash of sandy hair and a familiar gait. The man was hesitant, slowly making his way over, which gave Ray time to decide to give his mouth a rest. He pulled down his shorts and drizzled some lube on his fingers so he could quickly open himself up. His visitor put his cock through the hole and with a grunt Ray backed his ass right onto his. 

"Shit," the guy said from the other side. "You fucked-up horny hick."

Ray braced himself against the other wall as his fellow redneck did what any redneck did when finding his cock up a slick hole and started fucking him. The angle was awkward and the plywood barrier made it impossible for him to properly deep-dick Ray, but getting some backdoor action after working his throat raw felt great. He freed his own much-neglected cock from his jock and started jerking in time to the thrusts. He was already dripping from the hours of cock overexposure. It didn't take much for him to shoot all over the concrete floor, biting his arm to keep quiet. His mystery fucker came shortly after, leaving a thin trail of cum dripping down Ray's taint after pulling out. Ray turned and managed to fit his first through to give him a big thumbs up.

He got a, "You are so fucking weird," in reply. 

Things died down fairly quickly an hour or so after the game was over. Brad had firm ideas about people going home once a party hit the end point listed on the invites. Ray sent him a text to let him know he was thoroughly wrecked and to put a closed sign on the door. After a while there was no further noise from the house. Ray was about to curl up and take a nap when some Viking-looking motherfucker came in. Ray did his best to give the man's oversized donkey cock the love it deserved but frankly his lips were about to fall off and he ended up mostly jerking him off until he came all over Ray's face.

"Get out of there and help me clean up," Brad ordered. 

"You better have saved me dinner," Ray said, opening the makeshift door and wobbling to his feet. He followed Brad back through the mudroom and into the kitchen. "I'm fucking starving."

"You've been eating all day."

"They're not literal protein shakes, jesus." A soft snoring noise distracted Ray from his quest for something new to stuff his mouth with, and a peek over the back of their biggest couch revealed an adorable rosy-cheeked redneck marine curled drunkenly around a pillow. Ray gave Brad a 'what part of anonymous did you misunderstand' look.

"He didn't have a designated driver," Brad said with a shrug. 

"You big fucking softy."


	21. 30 - Gagging (Ray/His Own Voice, Implied Ray/Brad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 468 words, in which Ray expounds on why Recon marines probably give great blowjobs, not that he would know.

"Stop," Brad said. "Don't get him started."

"Get who started?" Reporter asked.

"He's probably worried I'm going to start talking about people gagging. Or not gagging. You'd think someone so worried about basic bodily functions would be interested in preventing gagging, but apparently he thinks he's too good to listen to other people when they have suggestions." 

"Fuck me," Brad said.

"Sorry, Brad, the UCMJ says that's a no-go. But seriously, gagging. It's so frustrating, isn't it? You're trying to enjoy a little oral from a nice girl, start to get a little enthusiastic about helping her out, and the next thing you know there's all this coughing and sputtering and attempted stabbing going on. We've all been there, right? Maybe not you, Reporter, but any Marine has. Well, maybe not Walt, he's too much of a gentleman, even when he wasn't busy being disgustingly monogamous. I've never seen someone be so polite in a whorehouse."

There was a muffled groan behind Ray. "I'm supposed to be resting, asshole. Leave me out of this."

"Even just normal laid-back blowjobs can be those of us with excessive girth. I'm not sure Brad has ever successfully been sucked off. The thing is, it's all about your body thinking there's something in your airway, right? And guess who have been trained to suppress all need to breath? That's right, recon marines. I'm telling you guys, a Recon Marine probably could give the best blowjobs ever. Constant suction, no gag reflex, no complaints about a little deep-throat. I bet Brad could fuck my face and I wouldn't have a problem. You missed this, Reporter, but at breakfast before you arrived I won twenty bucks by swallowing an entire banana without chewing."

"Huh," Reporter said. 

"Unfortunately, Uncle Sam has made it clear that we can only pretend to be gay, not the actual deal. Fortunately, as you observed earlier, there are women who are every bit as dumb as the rest of us and joined the Marines instead of some pansy-ass service like the Army or Air Force. Just imagine what those crazy motherfuckers would be like with the right training. Deadly with a gun or in bed, it'd be some Black Widow shit."

"Ray," Walt said slowly, "are you saying we need to let women Marines into recon just so you can sleep with them and get better head?"

"Not me, obviously, just for guys in general. I'm not stupid enough to sleep with another Marine. That never ends well for anyone. Never mind the fact that you'd basically squaring the amount of poor decision-making involved, they're super aggressive. I ended up with bruises the last time I did it."

Brad made an indescribable despairing noise.

"Can I go back in the turret now?" Walt asked. "I can sleep better up there."


	22. Day 31 - Combo, Against a Wall + Strength Kink (Brad/Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 31 - Combination of the Above. Against a Wall + Strength Kink + Halloween Special (Not actually a kink)  
1363 words, Brad/Nate  
This follows up on Day 18 (the one where Ray's a werewolf). Brad has dinner with Nate, and then gets pinned against a wall and used hard.

Brad hadn't been expecting this. 

Ray had warned him that maybe seeing the LT was a bad idea. He hadn't told him not to. If he had said that Brad would have shelved the project entirely. He just thought Brad should be careful. It had been a couple weeks since he'd officially separated and while the paddle party had went well there was no telling how he might feel about seeing Brad again. He also warned that if Nate got annoyed he might possibly set Brad on fire with his mind or something, but Ray had been drunk when he'd said that part so Brad had written it off as him being his usual dramatic self. 

So Brad had sent an email suggesting they meet up for dinner. It made sense, after all. Nate would be heading to grad school and Brad was waiting to hear where he'd be stationed or deployed next. He made sure to use the word 'fraternize' when pointing out they could now socialize without any problems. Dinner had been nice. Nice to hear his voice again, nice to watch him smile freely, nice to see he'd put weight back on. Nice to feel that intense gaze boring into Brad like he could see into his soul. 

And now Brad was pinned face-first up against the concrete wall of a cheap basement apartment, Nate's breath hot against his neck as he held Brad firm with one arm and slid his free hand into Brad's pants to palm his rapidly hardening cock.

"Brad," he said almost into his ear, low but still too calm and flat to be called a growl. Brad knew what growls sounded like these days. "I was under the impression this dinner was a date."

"That was my hope," Brad grunted. Experimentally he tried to push back but Nate held him firmly in place.

"I don't like being led on."

"I wasn't doing that."

"Then why," and Nate's hand moved back to feel between his ass cheeks, "do you smell like a wolf's been using you as a cum dump?"

Brad wasn't sure what surprised him more, that Nate could tell how Ray had said goodbye a few days earlier before taking off to attend a mandatory Missouri wedding or that Nate was being so vulgar. "That's got nothing to do with this."

"I'd rather not have a furry rage monster bust through a wall because I poached. It's inconvenient."

"He said it was fine. At least if it's you." Ray no longer approved of Brad visiting professionals, although he claimed he was still down for the occasional three-way action. If he was honest with himself, Brad hadn't really felt the need for that since before Iraq anyway.

"Really? A werewolf told you that?" Nate took a deep breath and chuckled. "Person. Of course. Who else could it be?"

Brad did not have time to unpack that, even if there were any blood still in his brain for thinking. "Going to let me go now?"

Nate chuckled again. "Do you want me to?" He gave Brad's jeans a rough jerk down around his thighs and his hard cock sprang free. "I'm getting mixed messages."

"I've been," Brad grunted out, "discovering a few things about myself lately."

"Are you telling me that Brad Colbert, United States Marine Corps, likes to be pinned against a wall and fucked hard?"

Brad gasped at a sudden wet touch between his cheeks as a slick finger rubbed against his ass. A single-use lube packet dropped to the floor; clearly Nate was better prepared for this sort of thing than Brad had expected based on past performance. "Just off the clock."

"I have to admit, when I pictured your sexual exploits, this wasn't what I'd imagined."

Brad's attempt at a witty retort was cut short when Nate roughly entered him. Apparently foreplay wasn't on the menu tonight, but Brad wasn't going to complain. He'd been finding he enjoyed a bit of pain to start off. That initial sting just made the ensuing pleasure all the sweeter.

"You know me," Brad gritted out once the initial shock wore away. "I like trying new things."

"I didn't figure you'd be a talker, either."

Brad looked over his shoulder, or at least tried best he could, and smirked. "Most people I fuck aren't worth talking to."

Nate shoved him harder against the wall, momentarily pushing the breath from his lungs. The rough paint on the wall scratched against his cheek. With his other hand he gave Brad's ass a smack. "Seems like it's turned around now. I know how it is with you, Colbert. Pick up a bitch, make her scream, leave her behind. Only now you're the one getting off on having your ass fucked hard like a little slut and you keep coming back for more."

"Yeah, that's right," Brad admitted. 

"Good thing I'm more generous than you are. You might get some more after this."

Brad shut his eyes and let Nate use him. For the next few minutes they both lapsed into silence. The only sounds were their hard breathing, the slap of skin against skin, the clink of Nate's belt has he gave it to him rough, and occasional pleased whimpers as Brad took it. There was a growing warmth against his back, especially wherever the two of them touched, and Nate's breath was hot on his neck. His thrusts started getting a little more ragged and he started to make little desperate noises that Brad had heard only once before, when he stumbled across the end of a combat jack outside some nameless village and failed to turn around until it was over and he slunk away feeling guilty. 

"Jerk yourself off," Nate ordered in his ear. "I want you to come with me inside you."

Brad wormed his hand into the narrow space between his hips and the wall and did as commanded. He was on a hair trigger already, it only took a few strokes and he was painting the wall a new color. Nate let out the quiet satisfied sigh of a man trained to keep his orgasms quiet and a sudden warmth flooded Brad's gut. 

Nate's grip slackened and he backed up, hitching his pants back into place and buckling up again. Even as Brad did the same he could see Lt. Fick disappearing and the boyish grad student returning. 

"Hope I didn't move too quick there," Nate said.

"You were positively boot-like in your rush to get your cock wet," Brad said, "but I won't complain this time."

He might complain about the wet spot he could feel on his boxers, but frankly that was nothing compared to the mess Ray made when he got too enthusiastic. 

"Ray really said it was fine to ask me out?"

Brad gave him a skeptical look. "Sir, I'm going to ask you to think about my history and reconsider that question."

"You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't doubt your loyalty," Nate said, almost sheepish. "It's just that guys like him -"

"Of the furry sort?"

"- I wouldn't put it like that, but yeah. They tend to swing between free lover and extremely possessive without much room in the middle."

Brad filed that away and asked, "What sort of guy are you?"

"More the latter."

"I figured, but I meant what are you?"

Nate shook his head. "That's a very long story. Can you give me Ray's number? I need to talk to him and set up some kind of meeting so we can work out exactly what our parameters are."

Parameters. You could take the man out of the Corps but apparently not the officer out of the man. "I hope I'm invited. This sounds like you're talking about a custody arrangement."

"It's not like that at all, Brad. We don't own you. We may not be entirely human but we're not savages. Or vampires, the creepy fucks. I just don't want any... friends and extended family getting the wrong impression and things going all War for the Oaks over your body."

Brad was definitely going to insist on getting a spooky shit primer sooner rather than later.


End file.
